A World Of Goldfish
by Lothiriel84
Summary: He's living in a world of goldfish, and there's just one he's interested in watching. - Future fic. Contains some spoilers for 3x03.


He's living in a world of goldfish, and there's just one he's interested in watching.

Sherlock might think of himself as a dragon slayer, but Mycroft knows best. His brother is still the vulnerable little boy who refused to eat for a week when his beloved dog had to be put down – even if he's trying to disguise it behind those ridiculous coats of his now.

His little brother needs him, just like England needs the great detective. And Mycroft would never let his country down, no matter what.

(He's once admitted that his loss would break his heart, but he can easily blame it on whatever Sherlock added to the punch on that specific occasion.)

People come and go in his brother's life; most of them don't matter at all, with a few notable exceptions. They're Sherlock's goldfishes, the ones he likes to call _friends_.

All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, but his little brother refuses to see it.

That's why Mycroft keeps watching, and waits.

xxx

People used to wonder about Sherlock. The press alternatively portrayed him as gay, straight, or completely asexual; they're all wrong, but that's something Mycroft keeps to himself.

If anything, his little brother is the laziest bisexual that ever stepped this earth.

It doesn't matter about the gender, it's more about how intellectually challenging the other person is to him. That's how a certain Irene Adler of infamous memory actually managed to get under his skin, and Mycroft still blames himself for the incident.

Quite apart from the Woman, John Watson would have probably been the most obvious choice for a romantic partner, had he happened to be interested; left to his own devices Sherlock would never bother to pursue a relationship, though he might be receptive to the right person's overtures.

Never in a thousand years Mycroft could have guessed who this person would turn out to be in the end.

xxx

All things considered, pathologist Molly Hooper is a fairly obvious choice too. She's put up with Sherlock's eccentricities long enough for him to become accustomed to her presence, and that's saying a lot when it comes to a man that claims to be a high-functioning sociopath.

A long-suffering woman, but one that's still capable of standing up for herself when she needs to.

Not too bad a choice, though Mycroft is well aware that all credit goes to Ms Hooper herself.

(And it secretly amuses him that their parents keep asking his little brother when he's going to get married, much to Sherlock's annoyance.)

xxx

It's a rainy day when he walks out of the Diogenes Club to find his little brother standing on the pavement, a cigarette in his mouth.

That's never a good sign, as he knows from personal experience.

"Hello, brother mine," Sherlock drawls, blowing a puff of smoke.

Mycroft raises a questioning eyebrow, mentally preparing himself for whatever mess he'll have to fix this time around. "What do you want?"

His brother offers him a noncommittal shrug. "Congratulate you, I suppose."

He only stares at Sherlock, waiting for him to elaborate on his previous remark.

"You're going to be an uncle," he says at last, and Mycroft almost drops his umbrella in surprise.

xxx

Mum and Dad are all too happy to welcome their long-awaited grandson. If it were for Mycroft they would never have one, but it seems that Sherlock isn't so terrified as he thought he would be.

Molly looks both blissful and nervous, and he almost pities the poor woman for the task that has been thrust upon her. Raising a child that has half of Sherlock's genes would be a scary prospect for anyone, let alone looking after the kid's father at the same time.

His little brother rolls his eyes at their parents fussing over the crib, then picks up the violin and starts to play – as he usually does when he wants to show he's not interested in whatever is going on around him.

As a rule Mycroft doesn't concern himself with infants; however, this child is half a Holmes, and there's every chance that he might have inherited his father's brains.

The little boy could make for a very interesting goldfish someday, he thinks as he leans forward to observe him more closely.

"Stay away from him, Mycroft," Sherlock warns him, and promptly snatches the child out of his grasp.

This is probably the first time his brother is holding his son, and he all but smirks.


End file.
